


The Floor Below

by TheWhiteLily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: At least that's what he keeps saying, Crack, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, because John's NOT GAY, but no actual sex, implied sex, nor any actual relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteLily/pseuds/TheWhiteLily
Summary: Mrs Hudson is pleased to overhear John and Sherlock getting along so well again.





	The Floor Below

**Author's Note:**

> For fan_flashworks "Fast or Slow"

“Faster, John, yes!  Oh, yes that's it!”

Martha raised her eyes to the ceiling at the rhythmic thudding, checking that it was still intact.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh!”

After the steel reinforcing she’d had put into her ceilings when it became clear what sort of a tenant Sherlock was going to be—and which had saved the floor above from collapsing under an actual _grenade_ explosion—the place could certainly stand up to a bit of enthusiastic sex.

“Yes! No, get it in the right spot, slow down... slower... yes... yes....”

Although it probably depended on _how_ enthusiastic. The pace had slowed, but the thuds grew even heavier.  It was a lucky thing Rosie was in daycare today, really. Or perhaps that was the reason they’d finally decided to cut loose.

“Uh... uh... uh....”

And the rhythmic grunting had been going on for five minutes now. 

“That’s it, John! Right there! _Right_ there! Faster, John, faster!”

Really, Martha had to admire the man’s stamina, even if it seemed likely his technique seemed some work, given the amount of direction Sherlock was having to give him. Probably just out of practice, she supposed.

“Uh, uh, uh! Sherlock!”

“Don't slow down now, we're nearly there! Nearly! That's it! YES!”

Things upstairs apparently coming to a head, Martha hastily jammed her headphones on and cranked Iron Maiden up to full. There were some things a landlady didn’t need to hear from her tenants.

Ten minutes later, she was just putting the hoover away when she heard a knock, closely followed by John calling out.

“Hullo, Mrs H?”

“Yes, dear?” called Martha, approaching the entryway warily—to find John looking sweaty and flushed but fortunately fully dressed.

“Anything you need at the shops?” he asked. “I’m just out to get more supplies, because I broke the last… actually, you don’t want to know.”

“I’m sure I can guess,” she said, giving him a knowing look. “I _am_ glad to hear the two of you are doing your best to be safe, though.”

“Safe?” asked John, baffled.

“What with you getting married and him taking all those drugs."  He looked blank.  "Well, _of course_ you’ve got to get your blood tests and so on all sorted out before you do without. Pick me up some milk while you’re at the shops, will you? Sherlock’s been at mine again, I had two full litres yesterday. Heaven knows what he does with it!”

John flushed bright red, his eyes going distant for a moment as he apparently realised she’d been able to hear their little encounter through the floor. Goodness, it was as though they thought she was deaf as a post.

“No, Mrs H,” he said, giving a nervous little laugh and running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you think you heard just now, but Sherlock got a bit excited and started thumping the wall to keep up the speed he wanted me to—”

“Heavens!” She held up her hands to stop him. “I don’t want the details! At _my_ age!”

Although if he _did_ push to tell her anything juicy she was hardly going to complain. Next time Marie started getting uppity about her married ones, it would be nice to have something more than innuendo to drop into the conversation to shut her up with.

“I’m not gay!” John protested. “It was just an experiment!”

“Of course, dear,” she said, patting his hand mournfully. “Just a once off, I'm sure.”

So they were still in the closet then. What a shame. She _had_ hoped that the whole shock to the system of the previous four years—and a baby to boot—would have put a stop to John’s ridiculous insistence on maintaining a facade of heterosexuality. Really, the man had been in the Army, one would think he'd be a bit more secure about his masculinity.

“Sherlock’s got a case on,” blustered John. “And because my aim’s not bad, he wanted me to try to—”

“And you do like to keep him happy, don’t you?” she soothed. “He’s such a demanding sort. Don’t you worry your head; at that volume, it was clear to us all _exactly_ how keen he was for you to, well. I'm sure you were just swept up in the moment.”

Poor Sherlock. It had been such a strain on him, putting up with John’s seemingly endless string of beards. When he’d shaved off the actual moustache for Sherlock on his return, Martha had been quite encouraged, in a metaphorical sense… but apparently it wasn’t to be.

Well, about all she could do was keep being as accepting as she could, and perhaps one day they would finally trust her with the truth that anyone with eyes could see.

Or more to the point now, that anyone with ears could hear.

“Still, John,” she pushed on. “I’m ever so glad that you’ve patched it all up, but now that the two of you are back together, I _would_ prefer that you kept things to the upstairs bedroom, hmmm?”

It wasn’t so much for Martha’s sake, but Marie was only next door, and she could be _such_ a busy-body. Not nearly as open-minded about her tenants as one might think.

“Mrs Hudson!” John’s lips pressed together for a moment, then his shoulders slumped at the idea of having to confine their activities so.  “Fine,” he sighed. “We’ll try to keep it down. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Oh, it’s no bother at all!” she hastened to reassure him. “I’m happy for you both, honestly, I am! I thought you'd never sort things out again after, well, _everything_ , and Sherlock’s been _so_ lonely without you! I’ve always known you were perfect for each other.”

John opened his mouth, closed it, then gave her a tight smile, and headed out the door.

When he came back to deliver a new carton of milk some half an hour later, his jaw was set.

“Mrs H,” he said, standing stiff-backed in her doorway with a bag of shopping in each hand. “I wanted to explain what you heard earlier, and I’d really rather you didn’t interrupt me until I’m finished.”

“Of course,” said Martha, thrilled. “You know I’d be glad to be in your confidence.”

“No, Mrs Hudson!” snapped John, making her gasp, and then he looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, before refocusing on her face and speaking very calmly. “Sherlock and I have _never_ been a couple. We’ve got a—”

“John!” Sherlock burst through the upper door and clattered down the stairs in a whirlwind of excitement. “You’re back! Don’t bother with your coat, we’re going out.”

John shot Martha an agonised glance.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said kindly. “I’ve already worked out what you wanted to tell me, and I’m honoured, truly.”

“—a _case_ ,” John ploughed on through gritted teeth, “where people are being poisoned by someone who throws a rapid succession of—”

“Of course, go, go!” she said, flapping her hands at him.

“No time for chit-chat!” agreed Sherlock, already in his coat and knotting his scarf around his neck. “We’ve got a lead on the dartboard murderer—if we’re going to catch him before you’re due to pick up Rosie, we’re going to have to hurry….”

John’s eyes snapped from Martha to Sherlock, his feet already moving, his hands uncurling to release the bags of shopping that he’d forgotten even before they hit the ground.

Martha sighed fondly as she watched John so caught up in Sherlock's gravity again. On the ground by her door, the milk carton he’d promised her had tipped over onto its side but mercifully stayed intact.

It really _was_ nice to see them back together again, the way they should be. And maybe tonight, when they came back from the case all indecently excited and wrapped up in one another, she might just be able to give Rosie her dinner and bath while her fathers reacquainted themselves again properly.  In the  _upstairs_ bedroom.

She wasn’t their nanny, of course, but just this once.

In the doorway, over the top of John's head, Sherlock turned and winked at her.


End file.
